


Famous Last Words

by magma



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Miscarriage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, more relationship tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 19:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18630274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magma/pseuds/magma
Summary: ** EXPLICIT SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME**Steve made his choice. He's not the only one forced to live with it.Less vague summary in notes.





	Famous Last Words

**Author's Note:**

> **Once more for the folks in the back- contains explicit spoilers for Avengers: Endgame. Do yourself a favor and go see it already. I can imagine the internet isn't a fun place for you right now.**
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> 
> Come to think of it, the vague summary gets to the point I'm trying to make.

_ 1946 _

 

The first bullet only just misses his carotid.

 

He’d arrived back precisely when he’d meant to, but time and space hadn’t been on his side without Tony’s time GPS. He’d had to hoof it from Long Island through the city in the dead of night, but made it to Camp Leigh in time for clock in.

 

Peggy obviously hadn’t been expecting guests.

 

The barrel is still smoking when she flicks on the light to the office. Steve does his best not to flinch, but knows its going to be an uphill battle from here and any weakness she senses will be a strike against him.

 

It’s still early, much earlier than most grunts and assistants are due to arrive at the base, but Steve wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Peggy was the first one to arrive and the last to leave on the regular. He counts his blessings for their solitude right now. This is going to be hard to explain, and he’d never known Peg to be particularly trusting at the best of times. It’s what made her the ideal candidate to found an intelligence organization the likes of SHIELD.

 

“I must say, this is either the cleverest cut out or the clumsiest honey pot I’ve ever encountered. Who are you, and what could possibly have compelled you to wear that of all faces?” He hears the click of another round being chambered.

 

“Peg,” He starts, “I know this is crazy, but I can expla-” but she cuts him off.

 

“Good God,” She growls, “You even sound like him. You have 30 seconds before I incapacitate you and hand you over to our interviewers for questioning. Better make it convincing.”

 

“Please, just let me,” He takes a breath, “It’s me. It’s  _ Steve _ . I don’t expect you to trust me. I certainly know you better than that, so I’m not going to beat around the bush. Go ahead, ask me anything only I could know. Whatever it takes.”

 

She seems to ponder that for a second, her gun hand never wavering, “There was a brief conversation at Krähennest Thal the night before you and your team captured General Reinhardt. What was it I said to you? My last words. Be specific.”

 

Steve blinks for a beat, unsure of how to respond, but decides the safest route is not to overthink it, “Nothing. The unit was divided and Sergeant Barnes and I were deployed in Poland gathering intelligence on our next target. And aside from that, the mission was unsuccessful and Reinhardt escaped. How ‘bout a question I actually have an answer for?”

 

She narrows her eyes, “Sounded like quite the answer to me. To what am I referring,” She continues, voice steady and eyes clear, attentive on him like a snake sizing up a rat, whether it would fit within the gape of it’s jaws, “When I say ‘allow them the dignity of their choice’?”

 

An icy grip constricts his heart, briefly, though he doesn’t try to hide it before summarily shoving the feeling down, “Bucky. You were referring to Bucky. How he died, and he must have… thought I was worth it.”  _ Don’t  _ think about it, he orders himself.

 

For another beat her gaze continues to pierce through him, before she lowers her weapon just enough that his forehead is out of her immediate crosshairs, “I suppose that will do for now. But you still have a lot of explaining to get through before I’m convinced you’re not an immediate threat. You have one hour before Stark arrives for our morning briefing, so you best make it quick.”

 

She ends up cancelling the briefing.

 

\--

 

“This is it,” She says with an almost shy grin. Almost, because there’s very obviously no small bit of pride underneath the uncharacteristic modesty. The front door swings open revealing a tasteful entryway next to a cozy parlour. He’s only gotten a glimpse and he can already tell her home is every bit as polished and warm as she is, “I know it's probably nothing compared to the future, but. There you go.”

 

“It’s nice,” Is all he can say, overwhelmed. This is her home. This is the life they could have had at the end of the war. The life they can have now.

 

“I’m quite happy with it, thank you.”

 

She gives him the tour. Or attempts to. Before they fall into each other and the niceties are forgotten in favor of making up for lost time.

 

\--

 

“Now, I’m sure you realize there are many…  _ logistical  _ factors to consider, should you be planning on staying,” She starts, before taking a long pull on her post-coital cigarette. He’d seen her indulge once or twice during the war, but for some reason he’d never considered her a habitual smoker.

 

“Those will kill you, you know.”

 

“Ah,” She smiles, “The first of many tidbits of future knowledge, I gather? I will take that into consideration, but I fear nothing quite calms the nerves like it,” His eyes follow the curves of her lips, soft and unpainted like he’s rarely witnessed on her younger face, “My point still stands, you know.”

 

“You think I don’t plan on sticking around? Even if I hadn’t expended my last Pym Particle to be here, you think there’s any force on Earth that could take me away from this, now that I can have it?”

 

“I’m sure that means you’ve considered all the repercussions your journey might have,” She answers, continuing to analyze him through the veil of smoke drifting lazily around them. He hopes his face projects all the earnestness he feels, “I may not be well versed on time travel, but even I know there could be dangerous implications for the future if we’re not careful.”

 

“Peg. I know what I’ve given up to have the chance to be here.”

 

She laughs in what sounds like disbelief, “And what of the world you left behind? The small ripples of your very existence here could have effects we could never dream of. Effects that could jeopardize the feats you and your team accomplished. I know you’ve yet to tell me everything about your future- I’m sure you’ll get there eventually- but I would not be very good at my job if I didn’t take the threats your existence poses into account.”

 

“I’ll do whatever you think is necessary,” He says, looking her in the eye, “It’s all worth it to be here.”

 

\--

 

It turns out, whatever Peggy thinks is necessary includes being indefinitely home bound. House arrest.

 

“V-J day was less than a year ago, Steve,” She reminds him, “You and that face of yours are a household item, and any bloke or broad on the street could clock you and start a fuss that would be impossible for even SHIELD to control. Not to mention, the absolute thrill of explaining it all when they find your body in the ice seventy years from now. We have to be so,  _ so  _ careful.”

 

He thinks about Wakanda, with its wide open grasslands and teeming forests and how his skin itched with restlessness after those weeks of inactivity. The pull of duty that dogged him even amongst all that tranquility and peace. He never could remain for long without driving Bucky up the wall, until he was calling Sam and Natasha himself to find something, anything for Steve to do to take the edge off. He’d known Bucky hadn’t wanted him to leave, just as well he knew Bucky understood that he had to. That was different, he tells himself.

 

“I can do careful,” He grins.

 

She grins back. They make love again in their ongoing effort to christen every surface of her home with their impossible union.

 

It’s all worth it.

 

\--

 

It’s not easy, though Steve supposed it was naive of him to expect it to be. He loves Peggy for her indomitable drive and ambition as he does for her sharp wit and character. But it still stings a little, every time Peggy walks out the door to tend to the burgeoning SHIELD. He knows she makes an effort to keep reasonable hours, but duty waits for no man or woman, as Steve well knows.

 

Many nights, she crawls into bed in the small hours of the morning, only to rise with the sun to start all over again. The irons of the Cold War are in the fire- not that he’s told her, under her explicit directive to reveal as little as possible that could change the course of history- and the young organization is feeling the strain. When she does arrive home in time for dinner, she’s often mired in bone deep exhaustion. 

 

It kills him that he can’t help. Can’t shoulder some of her burdens. 

 

“Just...  _ talk  _ to me,” She’ll say, “Tell me about your life. I want to know everything there is to know about you. Within the limits, of course,” She adds quickly. 

 

The limits. The unspoken rules that guide their interactions, when it comes to knowledge of the future. Nothing that will influence her direction at SHIELD, nothing that will deviate history from its course. It’s hard. Feels like it’s harder than anything he’s ever done. The secret of the parasite growing within SHIELD sits heavy in his chest, like lead, dense and implacable. But he knows that outing Zola and the rest of Hydra at this point will steer history off the rails irrevocably. The world might be better in the short term, but would they even find the Valkyrie in the ice should Secretary Pierce never be in place to appoint Fury as SHIELD’s Director? What would become of Carol Danvers, if SHIELD weren’t in place to aid her at the tipping point in her fight against the Kree? What of Wanda? Vision? Whether he liked it or not, Hydra’s machinations played as much a part in the Avengers’ ability to challenge Thanos as anyone. 

 

And if the Avengers’ never convene for that last desperate play, what becomes of Steve’s existence here and now? The mechanics and implications of those effects are far more up Lang or Banner’s alley. Steve? He can’t know anything for sure.

 

So no, it may kill him to do so, but he understands and accepts the importance of treading carefully.

 

But he tells her stories anyway. Of small moments. Of people. Of his life. Little things about the future that she might enjoy, but knowledge of which induces nothing but impatience for the world of tomorrow. She laughs when he tells her about how he met Sam, cries when he tells her about the UK’s first female PM, and frowns thoughtfully when he describes cheese in a can. He’s here to see every expression and learn every line on her face. He’s so in love.

 

So it’s worth it.

 

\--

 

_ 1950 _

 

He always thought they’d find a rhythm. Wear a groove in their routine to where life would normalize, and they could just enjoy their time together. But it’s hard to remember that while this is his retirement package, it’s just the start of Director Carter’s long and industrious career. Long nights turn into nights spent sleeping in her office at Leigh. To state dinners rubbing elbows with men that would love to see her fail solely because of her sex. To overseas missions and other dangers where he can’t have her back. 

 

To nights where work follows her home. 

 

He’s in the kitchen at the back of the house when the door open and hears.

 

“You can’t just follow me home,  _ Howard _ ,” She says loudly, voice carrying through the house with the obvious intent that he hear and react accordingly, “There are such a thing as boundaries, and this is crossing all of them,” He does hear, and ducks quickly and quietly up into their bedroom, as she had planned. Because of course she knew this was always a possibility.

 

“Carter, you and I both know this job follows us home, anyway. You can’t just duck out when there’s so much at stake. I don’t know how you can trust him this much. After everything he’s done.”

 

“It wasn’t my call, Stark, and you know it.”

 

“He is directly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of men. Of war crimes. Atrocities. He as good as killed Sergeant Barnes-”

 

“I.  _ Know _ .”

 

“And yet, who is it getting lab not two doors down from my own-”

 

“Men with much more clout than me have decided we need him. It’s a strategic move, using him and his knowledge for something good. I know it won’t atone him or bring Sergeant Barnes back but-”

 

“But nothing. We don’t need that slimeball.”

 

“We need every advantage we can get. You know how much there is set against us. How many would see us fail after all the toes we’ve stepped on to get here.”

 

“How many times do we have to prove ourselves to them? We gave them Captain America, for crissakes.  _ You and I _ .”

 

“Yes, you and I. A woman and a child genius- both upstarts and audacious enough to push limits and make hard compromises when we had to. This is one of those compromises. Just another one in a long line of tough calls I’ve had to make. I don’t have the luxury of hiding behind my machines and experiments as you do. Who do you think they always come to with their demands? It certainly isn’t you they see as the weak link in this partnership.”

 

“That isn’t my fault.”

 

“Well is certainly isn’t mine!”

 

The urge to come to her defense is strong- burning in his veins like kerosene. Almost as strong as the urge to support Howard, because he’s right. SHIELD will be the ones to pay dearly for their gambit on Zola. But he can’t. Say. A word.

 

He listens to their argument in bitter silence for another half hour before Peggy finally muscles Stark out of their home, the slam of the door a powerful punctuation. He still waits for her to come to him, and it’s another fifteen minutes before she cautiously opens the door to their sanctum. 

 

“I suppose you heard all that.”

 

He nods, “Sorry.”

 

“It can’t be helped. Howard was in rare form tonight. I’m sorry I brought work home with me- you know I try not to.”

 

“I know.”

 

Her gaze cuts to him as she divests, picking up on his barely concealed bitterness.

 

“You know why it has to be this way, Steve. I love you, and having you with me again has been such a gift. But it can’t infer with SHIELD operations. I can’t let myself or my work be moved by whatever knowledge you have.”

 

“I.  _ Know _ ,” He grunts, scowling back at her, “But you’re not the one trapped here day in and day out like a prisoner. I know how important your work is, Pegs, I do. But you can’t know how hard it is to be hidden away like this. I can’t even  _ help _ . I can’t protect you- I know you don’t need protecting,” He interrupts himself before she can, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be there. I hate seeing you bear this all alone.”

 

“I’m not alone,” She sighs, taking a seat on their bed next to him to tug off her shoes and drop them to the floor, “Howard can be the most royal of pains in my arse on a good day, but his support is invaluable to me and I am grateful for everything he brings to the table. I can’t even say he’s wrong about Zola, and it absolutely kills me to let that man anywhere near SHIELD, but I also can’t ignore the advantage he poses for us. Using him is a vile necessity, and it’s my job to calculate the risks and act accordingly. He has cooperated with-” She clams up abruptly, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, I just can’t discuss it with you.”

 

“I already knew about Operation Paperclip, and Zola.”

 

“That isn’t the point. You knowing about it makes it even more imperative I don’t discuss his circumstances with you. I  _ know  _ you, and I know Zola will be a sore spot for you after Sergeant Barnes-” She cuts off as he rises jerkily and strides purposefully toward the door, “Wait! Steve. I’m sorry. I know you don’t like to discuss Barnes, even now. It just slipped out. All this business with Zola has brought up a lot old nonsense. For me.”

 

He sighs. He could still storm off, as he is wont to do when frustrated- but where would he even go? Instead, he sits back down, this time on Peggy’s cherished chaise, where she spends many a Sunday lost in her novels or mission reports. They sit in silence for many minutes.

 

“Won’t you,” She starts but stops again, appearing to visibly collect herself, “Won’t you just help me understand. Why you refuse to talk about him? I understand that pain, I do. But. If we can’t support each through that, what’s the point in it?”

 

He wants to- God he wants to. He’s been living in the past for years now, with no one but Peggy’s confidence for company, and, and.

 

And they way he left haunts him.

 

According to the plan, he will find Bucky, Sam, and Bruce moments after his missed mark, but the fall out he is expecting is more than he can bear to think about. Sam will no doubt understand. Bruce will no doubt be furious at his recklessness. Bucky. He’s man enough to know that, on a certain level, this was a betrayal. A promise broken. And he hasn’t yet strategized his way through that one. He still has decades to decide how to navigate it, when the time comes. So he continues to push it down. Push it away. 

 

He knows processing it with someone would help. The future had opened his eye to the power of talking through problems. What he wouldn’t give to bear it all to Peggy, if for nothing else than the confirmation that he made the right choice. For her to assure him that Bucky would, if nothing else, understand. Maybe even support him, knowing he had to take the opportunity that was presented to him. 

 

But he can’t know. Because Peggy can’t know that Bucky made it out the other side with him, without revealing the Winter Soldier’s existence to her. And that would tantamount to opening the Pandora’s Box that is Hydra.

 

So he shoves it away from his mind, as he always does. At least in 1950 there’s no Sam Wilson to rhapsodize about the power of therapy.

 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

 

Peggy watches him solemnly, and he can tell the subject is far from dropped by the way she steels herself.

 

“Is it because… Because of your  _ relationship _ ? With Sergeant Barnes?”

 

Something cold erupts inside him, sending ice through his blood. She doesn’t stop there.

 

“Because if you think I didn’t know, Steve, well. It is my  _ job  _ to know things. Not that you two didn’t hide it well. Only those who knew you best had any idea. Even before you arrived, there were those who knew or at least suspected Barnes of his… proclivities. And after, well. It didn’t matter. To your men. To me.”

 

Steve can’t seem to find his voice.

 

“You… knew,” He manages to croak out. She all but throws herself off the bed, scooting toward him on her knees and taking his face in her hands.

 

“And I didn’t  _ care _ . The brass may have had things to say about the goings on between men on the battlefield, but I know better than most how war creeps into one’s soul, my love. If you and Barnes needed each other to make it out the other side with your souls intact, who would I be if I begrudge you of that?”

 

He can feel the wetness behind his eyelids, and takes a deep breath to stave it off. She doesn’t miss a beat though.

 

“He was a good man. The best of men. And he loved you at times when I couldn’t. And perhaps, in another world, you’d be here with him and not… and not me. But I’ve come to terms with that, Steve-”

 

“No!” He interjects before he can stop himself, “I chose you. I would choose you,” He corrects automatically, “You’re no back up plan, Pegs, I swear to God.”

 

Like a thorn in his brain, the guilt reminds him that if  _ she wasn’t  _ then  _ he was _ , but he  _ shoves it away _ .

 

She looks at him critically, still cradling his jaw in her hands, “I never thought that for a second. Barnes was a person, not a plan. And you two shared a whole life together before we met. It was never a competition for your heart, dearest. It was two different but powerful loves, in two different but powerful circumstances. However, I am little worried that, in your mind, that wasn’t the case. I suppose it is very like you to think in those absolutes values, but tell me you never led Barnes to think that way. I can only imagine how hurtful that would have been for him.”

 

He doesn’t know what to say.

 

“It was worth it,” Is the only platitude that comes to mind, but he doesn’t know who it is supposed to comfort, right now.

 

\--

 

Peggy goes a little cold, after that. She’s obviously turning things over in her mind. Mulling over the conclusions she’s come to. But it doesn’t take long, in the grand scheme of things, for her to come back around to him.

 

“There’s no helping it now,” She offers crisply one day, “Barnes isn’t here, which is probably best for you, since you seemed to have really buggered things, in that regard. But we are here now, and that’s that.”

 

She does get in one parting shot before letting the issue fade into oblivion.

 

“I hope you at least let him die with the knowledge you loved him.”

 

He did. Bucky fell from that train knowing Steve loved him. 

 

It was the Bucky he left behind in 2023 he wasn’t so sure about.

 

\--

 

He hasn’t left the house in months. 

 

Once in awhile, Peggy can manage a trip for the two of them. Stealing him away from the city in the dead of night and far away from prying eyes. Giving Steve the chance to spread his wings and stretch his legs a bit. She’s walled her yard in high fences to ensure he can experience fresh air and procures books, music, and television to make sure his life has every reasonable form of enrichment under the circumstances. But nothing beats their ventures away from the house he can’t help but view as his prison.

 

He’ll go for long runs in the woodlands, sometimes a whole day at a time. They picnic next to lakes and on top of mountains- a small taste of the sense of adventure and discovery he’d become accustomed to, before a sacrificed his freedom for this love.

 

It was still worth it.

 

But Peggy hasn’t been able to call herself away from work for more than an evening in almost six months, and Steve’s mind and body are feeling the strain of it all.

 

He leaves the house one afternoon, just after the lunch hour.

 

He’s grown back his beard, and let his hair grow out once more. He looks downright indecent by the standards of decorum for the time, but it does the job. He walks down the street he’s called home for years now, taking in the scenery he’s only witnessed under the cover of darkness from Peggy’s passenger seat. He looks people in the eye and smiles, giddy with his first true taste of freedom in so long. It’s a small achievement, but to him as he is now, it’s everything.

 

He buys a custard at the diner down the street. The waitress doesn’t look twice at him, like she isn’t one of the first people outside of Peggy who’ve spoken to him since returning to the past.

 

And then he goes home. Speaks nothing of it to Peggy when she arrives back long after dinner has gone cold.

 

And he does it again.

 

And again.

 

Until one afternoon he strides through the door, hours before he expected Peggy to return, only to find her seated in the parlour, swirling a glass of scotch and looking into its depths.

 

He stands, framed in the doorway and unable to come up with a single word.

 

“Close the door would you, darling?” She hums without looking up from her glass.

 

He does, and as it clips shut, her eyes cut to him.

 

“Did you have a nice time?” She asks, placidly. This is a side of her he’s rarely seen, since the days long past when her fury over his stolen kiss with Private Lorraine broke over him swift and terrible. The coldness only reaches her eyes, the rest of her face an absolute mask of tranquility.

 

His heart skips a beat, adrenaline surging through him, “Listen, Peg-”

 

“No, I think you should listen, Captain,” She answers, and though she hasn’t raised her voice nor changed her tone, her feelings are palpable. She stands and strides leisurely toward the window, glass firmly in hand and takes a long drink, “I feel a sudden and undeniable kinship with Sergeant Barnes in this moment. I’m sure the trials he weathered keep your arse out of the fire were innumerable and requiring of endless patience. I am not a patient woman, darling. And unlike Sergeant Barnes, I do not have the latitude to allow you to muck things up as you seem so desperate to attempt.”   
  


“That’s not fair-”

 

“This isn’t about what is fair. This is the hand I was dealt, by you I might add. You made this bed, Steven, not I. I cannot believe I trusted you to lie in it. I suppose you expect me to be grateful it’s taken you this long to take absolute leave of your senses and throw caution to the wind.”

 

“I was cautious,” He insists, “I was careful. No one recognized me. I know what I’m doing, I just needed to…  _ breathe  _ for a minute. People aren’t made to be kept like this, Pegs.”

 

“People aren’t made to travel through time,” She says, veneer of calm fracturing only slightly as her glass clinks sharply against the table under the window, “And here we are.”

 

“Now listen here-”

 

“If you cannot respect my desire to ensure the safety of all of us who have only one lifetime to live, then perhaps we should rethink this arrangement.”

 

Her words, delivered so casually, cut right to his core.

 

“I did this for us,” He says, “And you’d just throw that away? Our chance at a life together?”

 

“It was worth it to you to put the sovereignty of history on the line for the chance to try again. I respect that desire, Steve. But you knew my respect had conditions attached. You made a choice; I believe I have never said I would have made the same one.”

 

“These have been some of the best years of my life. The risk was worth it.”

 

“That is where our opinions differ, I’m afraid. Would the unraveling of time justify the time we’ve had together, albeit wonderful? Unquestionably not. Perhaps that means I am the heartless bitch my detractors believe me to be, but alas. I am a pragmatist at the end of the day. Even if it meant I were to spend my long years alone and unloved should you not have arrived, I would have at the very least died a spinster knowing I did everything in my power to preserve the greater good.”

 

She wouldn’t have been alone, the guilt reminds him. She lived a long life full of love even before they got their second chance. Her happiness had never been contingent on him. He knows that, but tries so hard to believe he brought something more to the table, when he missed his mark all those years ago.

 

When he fails to respond, she continues.

 

“I mean it, darling. You pull a stunt like this again, I will track down this Pym figure myself if that’s what it takes. You’re right, man is not made to be sequestered from the world. If you can no longer stomach the tough situation you’ve put us in, then it would be best to be done with it before the consequences are too great. It would break my heart, but I see no other way through.”

 

She turns, casting him one last sorrowful look- vastly preferable to the simmering rage from before- before taking her leave. She at least has the grace to not leave the house, knowing he cannot- should not- do the same. But her desire for space from him is clear, and he knows he’s tested her limited patience enough.

 

He makes dinner.

 

She arrives promptly at seven, as is the norm when SHIELD doesn’t have her chained to her office.

 

They eat in silence, and it isn’t until she rises to clear the dishes and cutlery away that he breaks it.

 

“I’m sorry,” He manages, “Not for being here, or even for the risks. I’m sorry, Pegs, but after everything I’ve seen and done in my life, I took my chance at happiness and ran with it, knowing there were risks involved. I can live with that. But I’m sorry I’ve damaged the trust. I never wanted that.”

 

Glancing up at her, he’s taken aback by the sadness in her eyes. Understanding, there is no trace of, but something akin to… regret.

 

“What kind if life have you lived,” She eventually responds, “Where happiness felt so far away you had to return here to find it? I never wanted that for you.”

 

The question is so unexpected, but so precise he must consider it. 

 

“I suppose it wasn’t,” He says, voice quiet. He releases her wrist and she sits back down, listening intently, “I had a friend who asked what would make me happy, once. I didn’t know how to answer. I sure did have moments, though. With my team. My friends. In the end, it just became so hard to look into the future and see a happy ending, after all the losses. I was in a fog. And then I traveled back… saw you at Camp Leigh. It felt like the sign. A giant, flashing billboard pointing me here.”

 

Her response comes quicker than he anticipated, “And what of those left behind? Do you think they will find happiness amidst that devastation, or is the future really so bleak?”

 

“They could,” He assures her without thinking, but stalls, suddenly seeing through her words to the implications underneath, “Why are you twisting my words like this? I’m trying to be honest with you, but you’re trying to poke holes in everything I’m trying to build here.”

 

“I’m playing devil’s advocate, dearest, it’s not the same thing. Would you love me more if I refused to challenge you and your decisions? You should know me better than that.”

 

“Sure, maybe I could have been happy,” He barrels on, his own ire rising, “I left people I cared deeply about to be here. I probably hurt them in ways I’ll never fully grasp, but you know what? I have to believe it was worth it. I have to believe every minute we spend together justifies leaving them behind the way I did. Maybe I could have been happy, but it would have been hard- so hard- to find that happiness knowing I had this chance and let it slip through my fingers.”

 

He leaves her to clean up the remnants of their meal. 

 

When he wakes the next morning, she’s already left for the day. Her life can’t be put on hold whenever he’s feeling vulnerable and unsure of his place. But damn it, he wishes it could be.

 

\--

 

“Maybe,” She offers an olive branch sometime later, “There’s something else we can do to make this easier for you. I had a thought, if you’re amenable.”

 

They decide to try it. They decide to have a baby.

 

\--

 

The time that follows, Steve is walking on air. 

 

He’d never given a family much of a thought. Wartime too troubled to consider it, and the time after… it’s not like it had ever been on the table with Bucky, for so many reasons.

 

But it gives him purpose he’s gone so long without.

 

Purpose in planning, because there are a lot of plans that need to be in place. Nothing else has changed about their circumstances- Steve existence must continue to remain a secret. Peggy would be forced to navigate much of pregnancy and child rearing solo, but Steve was in an optimal position to act as a primary caretaker, leaving Peggy available to continue her mission with SHIELD. They could continue to vacation away from home, as a family. As their child got older, it would get harder to keep their secret, but Peggy assured him it was nothing they couldn’t handle. Some uncertainty wasn’t a dealbreaker, which let Steve know she was trying. Doing her best to give him something else to keep him going outside of the two of them, even though she couldn’t account for every variable. 

 

Purpose in lovemaking, because it’s now  _ baby _ making, and doesn’t that just change the whole experience? They make love together more in that first week than they have in the last six months, it feels like. At times, she’s so exhausted for it, she falls asleep part way through, but she promises him it’s fine. They have a life to create, after all.

 

Purpose in spirit. The color he seen slowly bleeding out of his vision is restored, and he suddenly has a urge that had abandoned him long ago. She listens, and comes home one afternoon with half an art supply shop in tow, and surrenders half or her in home office as a studio. They would have converted her spare bedroom, but they reserve that space instead for the nursery.

 

On every front, she is meeting him halfway, and he’s never loved her more.

 

\--

 

With a baby on the way, Steve can’t help but remember another unlikely parent who’s advent of children changed them irrevocably.

 

He rarely counts the days and weeks he’s been gone, but the Guilt demands it.

 

It’s been six years since Tony died.

 

Longer than the time after the Vanishing, but less than half the time he’s spent in the future. It doesn’t feel that long, but when he looks in the mirror, he sees faint lines that weren’t there before. Signs of aging he hadn’t known until now he was capable of.

 

He’d seen those same lines on Bucky’s face. He shoves the thought away.

 

Anyway.

 

Fatherhood had changed Tony in shockingly predictable ways. Given him a perspective his life had lacked, and a sense of mortality that had almost doomed them all.

 

Steve wonders how it’ll change him. Just hopes he adjusts with the surety and compassion Tony had, who despite not being perfect by any stretch of the imagination, had loved Morgan so endlessly, he’d given his life to give her a future. Even if it was a future without him in it.

 

It’s a large pair of shoes to fill, as far as he’s concerned. 

 

But it’ll be worth it.

 

\--

 

Peggy’s grace through their turmoil extends further. 

 

She compromises with him once more, and begins sharing more of her life outside these four walls. She talks about missions and events. Cautiously, at first, as if unsure of how much she can reveal before he cracks and compromises her right back. But he is diligent, and acts as an ear- a sounding board- carefully never offering advice, only solace and comfort, if needed.

 

One day, while informing him on one of her many, many irons in the fire, she mentions a name.

 

Daniel Sousa.

 

It truly tests Steve’s commitment to neutrality in a way he never expected, but she never pauses in her rendition, so he’s sure he kept anything revealing off his face.

 

“You rescued his unit in the war, you know that?” She says.

 

This was the man she would have married. The man she would have had a family with. The man she built a life with, in another lifetime.

 

He’s now just a man. A man with no more place in her life than any of the agents and officers she interacts with everyday.

 

How had he not expected this?

 

Guilt rears its head once more, and he allows it to wash over him for a brief moment before letting it go. They are building their happiness. They are going to have a baby.

 

It was worth it.

 

\--

 

_ 1960 _

 

Ten years after Tony died to save his child, Peggy miscarries for the third time, they learn they will never have children of their own.

 

Peggy blames herself, and he can’t even comfort her with the knowledge that in another life, she bore two healthy, beautiful children.

 

Steve knows it’s him. He and his fucked up biology are the ones standing between Peggy and the family she deserved. The family she’d had.

 

The Guilt claws at him once again. And this time, he can’t shake it’s grip.

 

\--

 

Life goes on. Peggy come to terms with their sterility in a way Steve envies, and carries on- determined and hearty as ever. And if the fire in her is a little dimmer, well, there isn’t much comfort to be offered. They’ll be alright, because they have each other. That’s what he tells himself.

 

He is proud of her when she channels her disappointment into her vision for SHIELD, turning to its operations for meaning in a way Steve understands intimately. 

 

Steve continues with his art, to process. Creations that were once full of life and hope bleed into images of longing- at times despair. He tries to keep up a strong facade, for Peggy’s sake, but in his paintings, he just can’t hide the ugliness he feels inside.

 

Pride shifts into dismay when her vigor for running SHIELD inevitably leads to countless nights alone in their bed. She needs this, he reminds himself, but it offers little in the way of respite. That restlessness their impending parenthood had quelled rears its head again.

 

In his many hours alone, Steve’s thoughts more often turn back in time- or forward, as it were.

 

He paints his memories. Sam’s wit and stalwart loyalty in his gap-toothed grin. Hulk, Clint, and Thor, each with their distinctive and devastating ferocity, contrasted with their staggering capacity for tenderness, when called for. Tony. And Natasha. Like so many things in his life, the loss of Natasha was a blow he’d thought he’d moved on from, but when given an inch, his grief takes a mile. 

 

And he has so much to grieve for, he realizes. 

 

The chance to see Wanda, Peter, and Morgan grow up.

 

The opportunity to repay T’Challa and Wakanda for their generosity so freely given.

 

And Bucky. He’s grieved for Bucky so many times, over so many years, for so many reasons. And yet, it seems there is always more where that came from. The rabbit hole of grief that yawns beneath his feet is vast, and uniquely painful, for all the pointed Guilt he’s pushed and pushed away over the years. He can’t think of Bucky without his throat constricting and feeling like he’s one breath away from vomiting. It’s too much for him to handle.

 

So he pushes it away.

 

There is never a painting of Bucky around for him to hide away with all the others, away from Peggy’s well meaning prying.

 

He still knows the plan. He will one day wind up back where this all started. For those on the other side, like no time had passed at all- no opportunity to miss him as he so acutely missed them in these moments.

 

He just wasn’t sure what more of him there would be left when that time arrived. Or would the unhealed grief and Guilt have whittled him away until there was nothing left but his breath?

 

\--

 

He doesn’t attempt to escape the confines of their home again, despite the restlessness. He busies himself as best he can with his art, with exercise, and when those fail, he watches television for hours on end. He hasn’t touched a book in over a year- can’t bring his mind to focus enough to connect the words with any sort of imagery. The days that pass are both long and short- long, as Peggy is away, and being the love of his life, on top of his only human contact, makes every minute they are apart seem endless. Short because he can beat back the chasm of emptiness threatening to consume him by letting the the whorl and chatter of the Flintstones, Bonanza, and the Andy Griffith Show fill his senses.

 

\--

 

Even the fog of depression that blurs his days and nights isn’t enough to mute supersoldier senses- which is why Steve finds himself awake long before dawn one morning, Peggy snoring softly beside him. He doesn’t know when she finally stumbled home to bed. He’d crawled his way there hours before he expected her home, and he knew the sound and feel of her presence so intimately, it had not been enough to put his senses on alert in many years. 

 

That is not the case for whoever has been stupid enough to break into their home. He can’t even say what precisely woke him- but his intuition has yet to fail him in combat, and those long stagnant impulses are screaming at him. Danger!

 

Peggy keeps their residence unlisted to even those she works with, outside of Howard, which makes their intruder all the more threatening. Best case scenario, it’s an unlucky burglar who’s bitten of much for than he can chew. Worst case scenario- Peggy has powerful enemies, and knowing where to find her is just the first on a long list of secrets that could have dire consequences should they be uncovered. 

 

Steve is out of bed in the next heartbeat, padding silently out into the hall. Their bedroom is nestled in the rear corner of their second story, and a long hallway connects it to their secondary living spaces and the staircase. A long hallway with one tight corner and no windows, providing no light and revealing no shadows. It’s been a long minute since Steve’s had any account for which to use his vast and varied skill set, but his muscles remember, and he creeps silently down the stairs toward the turn, braced for the worst. His readiness to kill to defend Peggy and their secret surprises him, but he steels himself with it

 

He pauses at the vertex of the hallway, listening, but hears nothing. Not a creak nor a breath to imply their unwanted visitor has made it this far.

 

He turns.

 

The first sound to breach the buzz of white noise since he awoke is that of a gun cocking, and a round being chambered. The first thing he sees is the barrel of the gun.

 

The second is the mask- or more accurately, muzzle.

 

Third, the eye black.

 

Cloudy grey eyes.

 

A metal arm.

 

The Winter Soldier finds him once more, across time.

 

\--

 

\--

 

_ Interlude 2023 _

 

“I guess you’re lucky that hammer likes you, else Thor’d be the unfortunate schmuck stuck on clean up duty, huh?”

 

Bucky smothers grin at the way Steve startles, while simultaneously pretending he doesn’t. The other man glances over his shoulder toward where Bucky leans in his door frame.

 

“I suppose lucky is one word for it,” Steve agrees before turning back to his task. He’s hunched over, mending his… Bucky supposes time jumpsuit is the best word for it. It looks fine to him, but Steve always had needed to keep his hands busy when a mission loomed ahead. 

 

Bucky remembers other ways they’d had of staying busy. That’s why he’s here.

 

Tomorrow morning, Steve will be returning the stones to their rightful timelines, anchoring them back to this one once and for all. The mechanics of their time heist worked out well enough the first time around, or so Bucky hears, and yet Steve seems more agitated as the hour draws near. He can’t place why, but Bucky knows Steve well enough to know when the man is desperately in need of a distraction to ward away his doubts.

 

“You sure you’re up for this?” He asks as he finally enters the room. He’d been watching Steve fiddle aimlessly with the suit for a few minutes, confirming for himself that Steve was worked up enough to accept his offering.

 

“Of course,” Steve huffs, as if offended by the prospect of otherwise, “It’ll be a cakewalk compared to getting them where we needed them.”

 

“What’s gotten your blood up then?” 

 

Steve looks away sheepishly.

 

“I dunno, Buck,” Bucky also knows Steve well enough to know when he’s lying, but it’s fine. Steve can keep his confidence. He’d certainly let Bucky keep his, during those many long nights in Wakanda, when the nightmares stole his, and Steve’s, sleep. Bucky’d come clean eventually, and he knows Steve will too, once it’s all over.

 

Bucky hums agreeably, taking a seat next to Steve, moving the suit out of reach as he goes.

 

“Anything I can do to help?” He probes. Steve meets his eyes and knows he understands what’s on the table. The routine is a long standing one of theirs, dating back long before war zones and confronting their own mortality, or lack thereof, made it a necessary habit.

 

He’s surprised when a look of pain crosses Steve’s features, but it’s gone within a blink.

 

Steve coughs, “Yeah, I could do with some help.”

 

Bucky grins, and he knows its a shadow of what it once was, but likes to think Steve doesn’t care, “Just say the word.”

 

“Yeah, Bucky. Please,” Steve’s voice is small in a way it rarely is, “Just gotta get out of my head for awhile, right?”

 

“Of course,” Bucky reaches out, laying a hand over Steve’s nape, “I got you, pal.”

 

A few hours later, Steve’s lost to sleep, and Bucky lies awake. He’s aching and sore in ways one is only after a thorough fucking, but can’t sleep- consumed with the absurd feeling in his gut that in every gasp, touch, and thrust Steve had given him… was what felt like a goodbye.

 

It isn’t until the next morning, as they are preparing the ‘launch pad’ for Steve’s trip that the possibility occurs to Bucky.

 

He glances over at Steve, protective over the briefcase in his charge, and bickering lightheaded with Sam. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but the anxiety he’d sensed in Steve the night before was nowhere in sight. In fact, he seemed almost… giddy, as the time point grew near. Excited, and anticipatory, but clouded by a distinct melancholy. It was a puzzling combination, especially as transparent as Steve was with his emotions. But it heightened Bucky’s sudden fears all the same.

 

Not a possibility then. A probability.

 

He continued to watch carefully.

 

And by the time Steve was climbing the platform, only to climb down and bestow upon Bucky the most stilted and choreographed farewell ever merited for what was supposed to be a five second trip, Bucky was certain.

 

Steve wouldn’t be coming back.

 

“How can I,” He answers Steve, that asshole, looking for absolution even in their last words to one another, “You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

 

He hopes Steve picks up on the hollowness in those words. As Steve climbs up on the platform once more Bucky stares him down. He hopes it haunts Steve, wherever he ends up. As if there were any question.

 

So much for the end of the line, he thinks bitterly, as Steve blinks away.

 

Bucky’s on his own now, but he’ll be damned if he let’s this, of all things break the stride he’s fought so long and hard for.

 

He’ll keep on living anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I played fast and loose with the MCU/Agent Carter/AoS timelines here. Can't really be bothered by it.
> 
> There will be four chapters. It's only going to get shittier from here.  
> But a happy(er) ending is still on the table.


End file.
